


Broken Pieces

by Stormchild



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Evolution
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormchild/pseuds/Stormchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro Maximoff, Lance decides after a few months, is a mystery wrapped in a compulsive liar wrapped in a sarcastic bitch wrapped in a slut wrapped in a twink.</p>
<p>Pietro was in love with Lance from day one. Lance is slowly finding he feels the same. But, man, does Pietro come with issues.</p>
<p>Contains mentions of abuse, human experiments, rape, Magneto being a fucking dick hole, daddy issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lance brings the beer can to his lips. He doesn't want to think about how Pietro got all of this. Given how he wound up here - busted for vandalism and theft, and rescued by their mysterious benefactor - Lance thinks he has a pretty good idea. It's a lot of beer to steal without anyone noticing. But then, Pietro has already taken his wallet from his pocket about six times tonight without him noticing just to show he could.

Lance is lying on the couch with his back against the arm, taking up the entire thing because fuck you, that's why. Fred is on the chair with Todd sitting on the armrest. Pietro and Rogue are on the floor, Pietro practically at Lance's feet and Rogue across from him in front of the TV.

"So," Rogue says, "should we- talk or something? Ain't that why we're doing this team bonding crap?"

" _Sure_ , we'll go around in a circle and talk about our tragic backstories and what terrible turn of events landed us here," Pietro says with a wave of his hand.

"Hey, I don't got no tragic backstory."

Lance grins a little. Sarcastic bitch after his own heart. Emphasis on the bitch.

"Might as well talk about something. Otherwise, Ah got homework."

"All right, fine. You start. Does it actually say Rogue on your birth certificate, or do you have a proper name?"

"What's it to ya', _Quicksilver_?"

" _You're_ the one who said we should _talk_. Get to know each other."

Rogue makes a face at him.

Lance is trying to remember whose idea this was. Fred or Todd, probably, but he isn't sure which. He wasn't paying that much attention.

Frankly, he doesn't think any of them wants to be here. He's only here for the beer.

"So, ah- you're all from outta' state?" Todd asks.

"I dunno 'bout the rest of you, but I'm from Illinois," Lance says.

"Ah'm from Mississippi."

"Hey, that makes us neighbours," Fred grins. "I'm from Texas."

Lance nudges Pietro with his foot.

"What about you, pretty boy? _Pietro Maximoff_ isn't an English name. You foreign?"

" _Right_ , and Alvers _isn't_ an Anglicisation."

"Whatever. What are you, German? Russian?"

Pietro shrugs and waves his hand almost dismissively.

"Do I look _Russisch_ to you?"

"I don't fucking know what - what did you call it? - _Russisch_ looks like. Are you German, then?"

Pietro shrugs.

"I was born in Transia. My father's Polish, my mother was Romani. I spent a few years in Germany, but I _mostly_ grew up in New York City."

His tongue curls around the Rs in the names, rolling them. It's a shadow of an accent, not quite fully developed. He speaks quickly, shifting with every few words. He talks with his hands, Lance thinks.

"Ain't you fancy," Rogue scoffs.

"The hell's Romani? You mean _Romanian_?" Lance asks.

"You know Esmeralda? Hunchback of Notre Dame? She's Romani."

"Oh, you mean-"

"No," Pietro snaps, "I do not. I mean _Romani_."

"Okay, Romani. Whatever."

"Wait, whaddaya' mean your mom _was_?" Todd asks suddenly, as if finally catching up with Pietro’s quick words.

"I _mean_ she's _dead_."

Pietro's feelings towards Todd are more than evident in the silent 'you idiot' that should be tacked on.

"Dead how?"

Fred elbows him. Todd shrieks, falling off the armrest.

Pietro just shrugs and finishes his beer before grabbing another. His shoulders are tense.

"Like fuck if I know. Tuberculosis, I think."

"An' your old man?"

Jeez, talk about not taking a hint. Lance almost wanted to his Todd himself.

"Walked out on me. I guess his _work_ was more important than his _kid_."

Pietro’s voice drips with venom and it stirs something in Lance's chest. It's a bitterness he recognizes.

"You were in the system?" Lance asks.

"Yeah. He left me with a foster bitch and her long string of so-called-boyfriends."

"I was, too," Lance says. "In the system. Parents died when I was a kid. In and out of homes until Mystique found me."

Pietro snorts, mutters something under his breath. Lance thinks it might be in German.

"Well- Ah was adopted by Destiny when Ah was four. She was good to me," Rogue says awkwardly.

It's hard to follow up shitty foster care with less shitty foster care.

"My mama raised me. She's in jail now, but we write," Todd says.

"What's she in jail for?" Fred asks.

"Stole a car."

"Amateur," Pietro snorts. "Ow- _Lance_! Don't _kick_."

"Don't be a dick. You got busted stealing."

"Not stealing. And you _broke_ your old school. What about you, _Blob_? The circus your family, or _what_?"

Fred rubs the back of his neck.

"I ran away to join the circus when my mutation came out. Parents weren't fans."

Pietro laughs, practically cackling.

"I'm sorry, that's too fun- If you kick me _one_ more time, Lance, I _swear_ -!"

The rest of the night continues in the same way. Drinking and bitching - mostly from Lance and Pietro.

Lance loses track of time and drinks. All he knows is Rogue, Todd, and Freddy called it a night and Pietro's lying on top of him. They're sharing drinks and kisses and whispers. He's absolutely not gay, but he's drunk and Pietro is pretty and he does things with his tongue that make Lance shiver.

"Your foster parents ever hit you?" Pietro asks, that vague, non-descript sort of accent coating his words.

"All the fucking time. 'Til I start fighting back. What abou' foster bitch?"

"Not _her_. She mos'ly forgot I was around. Changed the locks on me once. I never figured out _why_. Her boyfriends… One broke my jaw 'cause I wouldn't blow him. Healed fine, though."

"What?"

Lance sits up a little. When Pietro whines, he leans back against the armrest. He strokes his fingers through soft, white hair. His stomach is burning. He can feel the tremors trying to escape his skin. Pietro's hummingbird heart rushes against his hand.

"No-one's ever gonna' hurt you like that 'gain. I won't let 'em. Never again."

Pietro laughs. It sends cold chills down Lance's spine, and not in the fun way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance questions the legality of Pietro's older guy thing. Pietro doesn't appreciate it.

Pietro Maximoff, Lance decides after a few months, is a mystery wrapped in a compulsive liar wrapped in a sarcastic bitch wrapped in a slut wrapped in a twink. He spends every other night in someone else's bed, coming home after midnight at the earliest. Some days, Lance doesn't see him until the next day at school. 

Lance doesn't mind much - he never wakes anyone up when he comes home at fuck o'clock in the morning - except he's pretty sure most of the guys he's sleeping with are way older than him. 

"I like older guys," Pietro shrugs when Lance mentions it. 

"Not older girls?" 

"It's different with girls. Sex with a guy who doesn't know what he's doing is usually painful." 

"Pretty sure sex for virgin girls hurts, too." 

"Not if you do it properly." 

Lance feels his ears burn a little and he isn't entirely sure why. Maybe the completely absent implication that he isn't doing it properly. Which is crap. At least, he thinks it is. Nobody's ever complained. 

"Anyway," Lance says, "I'm pretty sure you hooking up with college guys is illegal." 

"Only if they're more than four years older than I am. I'm seventeen in a month. Besides, who are _you_ to judge? You're literally smoking pot right now."

"There's a big difference between weed and statutory rape." 

Pietro stiffens. He has the same expression he had when Todd made the mistake of calling him a gypsy, and Lance is pretty sure he's about to be punched in the face. 

"It's not _rape_ if I say it's _okay_." 

Lance shrugs and offers out the joint as a peace offering. He supposes Pietro would know best. 

Pietro declines and takes one of Lance's cigarettes instead. Right. Pot doesn't do anything. Which is too bad. He really could mellow out. 

"That shit will rot your lungs," Lance murmurs. 

"They're _your_ smokes, dumbass."

"I stand by it." 

"Don't worry about _my_ lungs. My body can recover from just about anything." 

It's his first cigarette in weeks. He coughs on the first drag, his body adjusting to the smoke. Lance would worry, but it happens every time. 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. It's called a healing factor. I don't have a single scar on me." 

Lance looks Pietro over. He remembers Pietro mentioning a broken jaw. There's no sign that anything was ever so much as scratched. 

"You're a regular work of art," Lance says, only a little dryly. 

"Are we talking Picasso or Rembrandt? Or am I more of a Goya?" Pietro teases. 

Lance blinks slowly. What does he know about art? He only knows one of those names. 

"Yes." 

Pietro laughs, and there's not even a trace of malice or mocking in it. 

" _I_ think I'm a Rembrandt. He always painted his people so pretty." 

"You got that covered. Did he also paint them egotistical?" 

"I'm sure he did at some point." 

Pietro pauses, frowns, and straightens up. 

"Did you just call me _pretty_?" he asks. 

Lance shrugs. 

"You look like a chick, is all I'm saying. Dainty or some shit." 

"I bet I have more muscle than _you_ do." 

"Bet you don't. You're scrawny as hell." 

"I'm a natural sprinter. Of course I'm _thin_. I have almost zero body fat." 

"You're still scrawny." 

Pietro rolls his eyes. He pushes his sleeve up and flexes his biceps. 

"I'm aerodynamic." 

Lance shrugs, not entirely convinced. Sure, his biceps are decent but- How did they even get on this subject? 

Pietro puts out the cigarette and stands, stretching. 

"I'm going for a run." 

"Arright. See you in thirty seconds." 

Pietro rolls his eyes. 

"By the way, I have another date tonight with that history major. Can I borrow the Jeep?" 

"Sure," Lance says. 

The words come out without him really thinking about the question. By the time he realizes what he's agreed to, Pietro is already gone. It isn't that he minds letting Pietro take his ride. He's a surprisingly good driver, and he always fills the tank. But the idea of enabling Pietro’s older guy thing leaves a bad taste in his mouth that doesn't come out for days.


	3. Chapter 3

The tension in the kitchen is thick enough to cut with a knife. Lance considers going back to bed to get away from it. But he has to admit, he's a little curious at who pissed Pietro off this time. No one is sporting any bruises, so Lance isn't quite sure. 

It doesn't take him long to spot Pietro glaring daggers at Todd. The poor guy shrinks back every time Pietro’s eyes narrow at him. 

"You didn't call him a gypsy again, did you?" Lance asks Todd when Pietro leaves to go for a run. 

Apparently, those runs are by normal people standards. Pietro won't be back for another half an hour at least. It's safe to talk about him. 

"Oh, he did worse 'n that," Rogue says. "Tell 'im what you did, you little creep." 

"I swear, it was all just a misunderstanding, yo. He was in the shower - an' I knew it was him - an' I needed to brush my teeth. He gets all cranky when I don't, y'know." 

"We all do," Rogue says. 

"Anyway, so I go in and I can see him in he mirror, 'cause the curtain's all see-through. It ain't my fault, it's the damn curtain, yo." 

"That's it? You saw him naked?" 

"Oh, that ain't even the best part."

"I'm telling you, I never seen a guy that curvy. I thought it must a' been Rogue. I was like, 'Sorry, Rogue, I thought you were Pietro.' Except it _was_ Pietro, yo." 

"Oh God." 

Lance really doesn't mean to laugh. It's so not funny. He doesn't think Pietro will ever forgive Todd for this. And he knows Pietro won't forgive him for laughing but he really can't help it. 

"Ah know, right. Ah ain't _that_ scrawny." 

"Come on," Lance says, "he's aerodynamic." 

"Well, he looks half-starved." 

Lance can only disagree so much. Aerodynamic or not, he was too thin. 

Pietro comes in a half hour after he'd left. By this time, they've moved to the living room to do homework. It's easier to help each other that way. 

"I'm back," he says, as if they don't all hear him come in. 

"Hey Tro, can you help me with his math problem?" Fred asks. "I don’t get it..." 

"Ah keep trying to explain it to ya' but you won't get it." 

"Yeah, whatever. Just let me get changed. I'll only be a couple seconds." 

Pietro pulls his sweat-damp shirt off, just before he steps out of view. 

"Woah. You _do_ look like a girl from behind." 

Everyone goes still. Lance thinks Todd might actually be holding his breath. 

"Freddy, you dumbass," he hisses. 

"I mean, you're real pretty. Not _girly_ , though. Just regular pretty. Like a model." 

No one expects Pietro to smile, but he does. Apparently, flattery is the best way to keep him happy. It's not really a surprise. But Fred seems genuine and maybe that helps. 

Pietro darts up the stairs. 

"A model?" Lance says. "Really? Laying it on a little thick, there, aren’t you?" 

"Well- I never seen a guy model before. But I think he could be one." 

"Are you gay or something?" 

Fred's face goes a little red. 

"Don't have to be gay to know a guy looks nice." 

"It's a little gay, yo." 

"Well what's it to you?" 

Before Fred has time to get angry, Pietro is back with a pen and some paper. 

"Freddy- this is just the quadratic formula." 

"Yeah... uhm, I don't really get what a quadratic is, either." 

Pietro smacks himself in the face with the paper. 

"The circus was _clearly_ lacking in the math department. Okay, we'll start from the beginning," Pietro sighs. 

Eventually, Fred gets the hang of it. The floor is littered with sheet after sheet of paper covered in Fred's almost illegible scrawl and Pietro's neat cursive. 

Even his handwriting is delicate-looking, Lance thinks but never, ever says out loud. 

"So, do you have a thing for Tro or something?" Lance asks later, when it's just the two of them alone in the kitchen. 

Pietro is at track practice, no chance of him hearing then. No wonder he's so thin. All he does is run. 

"Nah. Like I said, he just looks nice. I don't like boys like that. But," Fred adds, "he looks like the kind of guy that might make someone think they do. Plus, he's nice to me." 

"He calls you stupid all the time," Lance says in something akin to disbelief. 

Fred shakes his head. 

"Nah. He says a lot a' things. But he never called me stupid." 

"That doesn't make him nice." 

"No," Fred agrees slowly, "but he always helps me with school stuff. It must feel like hours to him. An' a lot a' the time, we gotta' do it more than once. But he always helps me. He even corrects my essays for me. I got a B on the last one." 

Lance doesn't say anything and for a moment, neither does Fred. 

"I think it must be kinda' lonely to live so much faster 'n everyone else." 

Fred says finally before he leaves Lance with that thought. 

Lance stares at the back of Fred's head. He can't believe he's never considered that before. He'd always thought of Pietro’s mutation as ADD/ADHD. That's how it looks to him. But that's not even close to what it is. 

Lance realises he doesn't really know much about Pietro at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro gives great head.

The nice thing about drinking with Pietro is the feeling of having drank nothing compared to him for the same buzz. Lance starts to feel it at two. Pietro is on four, and he's drinking something harder. When Lance is on four, Pietro is starting seven. Has he ever heard of alcohol poisoning?

"She doesn' think 'm good 'nough for her. That's the problem."

"You _aren't_ good enough for her."

"Are too."

"How many times you been arrested?"

Lance wrinkles his nose.

"Three- Four."

"I bet she's never even gotten _detention_. What do you even _want_ with a good girl like that?"

"Maybe I'm tired of bad girls. Ever think of that?"

Pietro hums a little but otherwise doesn't respond.

"Just wish she'd gimme' a chance, y'know."

"You know what you _need_? A good lay. It'll take your mind _right_ off her."

"I don't need a lay."

"When's the last time you had a good fuck?"

Lance thinks about it, and groans a little.

"That long? Jeez."

"Not all of us need to fuck every two hours."

"What's so bad about it? It feels good. Don' tell me you'd rather cum in your hand than a _hot_ , wet pussy."

Halfway down the stairs, Rogue pauses and walks right back up to her room. This is so not a conversation she needs to hear.

"Well, yeah," Lance admits. "Who wouldn't? I jus'- Kitty."

" _Kitty's_  not _interested_. Find someone who is."

"Maybe I don't want anyone else."

"Maybe you're a _dumbass_."

Lance shrugs the comment off. He turns the TV on for a distraction. All the talk of sex is making him warm. The way Pietro flicks his tongue over his lips after every drink doesn't help.

Maybe it's because it's two in the morning or because the universe hates him or most likely because Todd was watching TV before they came in, but Lance hears the moans coming from the TV before his eyes register what's on the screen.

"Is that porn?" Pietro asks, grabbing the remote.

"Shh-! Turn it down, someone'll hear."

Pietro laughs and rests his head on Lance's shoulder.

" _Look_ at that cock…"

Lance shifts, glancing down at Pietro. From this angle, he almost looks like he could be a girl. Or maybe that's the beer talking. Lance isn't quite sure.

"Isn't this a little gay?"

"No, dumbass. It'd be gay if we were watching two guys, or two girls."

"You'd still be into that? If it was two guys?"

"Mm. I prefer men. It's _so_ much hotter when it's two men. Or three."

Lance shudders. He's never considered himself anything other than straight, but the idea of Pietro and two men makes his cock throb. He tells himself that he's only reacting to the TV, not to Pietro.  Never mind that he's wondered if those lips are as soft as they look. Never mind that he's dreamt of Pietro's fingers around his dick. It's hormones, nothing else. He hasn't gotten any in… A while, and Pietro is the team slut. It's natural.

On the screen, the man pulls out and lays down. The woman climbs on top. She rubs her tits, playing with her nipples.

Pietro kisses Lance's neck. His lips are soft.

Lance watches, his cock getting harder with every kiss along his neck and jaw, as the woman lowers herself onto the hard shaft below her with a loud moan. His jeans are getting tighter and tighter.

"You wanna' _fuck_ her?" Pietro asks, his breath hot and raspy.

"Yeah. I mean- She's hot."

Lance rubs himself through his jeans.

"You _could_ fuck _me_ ," Pietro suggests. "If you fuck me from behind, you can pretend I'm a girl."

Lance absolutely could. He's noticed more than once since it was first pointed out how the slight curves of his body make him look like more like a woman than a man from behind. And it's impossible to ignore, straight or not, how good Pietro’s ass looks. He's almost drunk enough and horny enough to say yes.

"Someone'll see us."

"At least let me blow you."

Pietro’s lips are pressed right behind his ear.

"I don't- 'm not gay, Tro."

"Pretend I'm _her_. Pretend _she's_ sucking your cock. She r _eally_ wants to. Please, Lance? I give _such_ good head."

Really, how can Lance say no to that? He doesn't want to, either. He reminds himself that it isn't Pietro he wants even as he nudges his head down towards his crotch. He obviously can't have the woman on the screen, so he'll settle.

A blow job isn't sex. He's still straight.

Pietro settles on the floor between Lance's thighs. Long fingers undo his jeans and pull his cock out.

Lance keeps his eyes fixed on the TV, and strains to hear for any movement indicating someone coming downstairs. It only takes a few seconds of Pietro’s expert fingers on his cock for him to become distracted. He can't focus on anything else and he doesn't want to.

"You're clean, right? Should I grab a condom?"

"I'm clean."

"You been tested since your last fuck?"

"Yeah. I'm _clean_."

Jesus, would he just get on with it already?

Pietro curls his fingers around the shaft and flicks his tongue out against the head.

Lance has been on the receiving end of a lot of blow jobs. Most of them were pretty fucking good. But this is- He almost can't breathe. Pietro’s pink tongue swirls around his head, licking up precum. That hot, _hot_ , wet mouth moves down his cock. Lance's cock hits the back of his throat and - oh _God_  - Pietro actually _swallows_.

"Holy fuck... holy fuck, don't stop..."

Pietro hums, sending vibrations all throughout Lance's body. He dips his tongue into Lance's slit and vibrates just slightly. The reaction is instantaneous. Lance grips Pietro’s hair with one hand and the armrest with the other. He arches, his hips lifting off the couch. For a moment, he can't see anything but white flashes, and all he hears is blood rushing through his ears. It's all he can do to clench his teeth together to keep from crying out.

Of course, what is instantaneous to Lance takes several heartbeats for Pietro. He wraps his lips around the head and sucks while his fingers stroke his shaft, licking and _sucking_ until Lance, whimpering from over-stimulation, pushes him away.

Pietro tucks him back into his jeans and curls up around him. Lance's hand is still in his hair, though his grip has relaxed.

"That- Woah... Swear I don' usually- That was just-"

Pietro kisses his jaw.

"Don't worry. I take it as a compliment."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro is a slut and Lance isn't good enough.

They don't talk about it. In fact, Lance isn't entirely sure he didn't just dream it. It's too ridiculous to be real. But then, there's the question of why his subconscious would dream of Pietro giving him the best blowjob of his life. One way or another, he came with his cock in Pietro Maximoff's mouth.

He still doesn't like guys, though. The fact that his cock twitches a little every time he catches Pietro licking his lips is irrelevant.

Lance decides to skip homeroom for the... well, he's gone all of twice this year. It's a waste of time, and his teacher's stopped chasing after him by now. Really, the only reason he wakes up is to get Fred and Todd to school.

He goes out to the soccer field and sits on the bleachers. It's not like he has anything better to do than watch the track team. Jean Grey eyes him suspiciously, but he can't  really care less. He isn't here for her.

"Hey."

Before Lance has a chance to look over, a book is being shoved into his hands. It's his copy of _Macbeth_ for English class. A bunch of sticky notes are poking out from between the pages.

"I gave this to you last night. Did you finish it already?"

Pietro shrugs.

"I'm a quick reader. I summarised the scenes, and marked points for your essay."

"And what am I writing my essay on?"

" _Lady Macbeth's Descent into Madness as a Metaphor for the Impact of Human Greed._ Do you want me to just write it for you?"

"Nah. You make me sound too smart."

"Because _that's_ possible. Don't forget you have to clean the bathroom now."

Lance groans a little. It's not like he didn't agree to Pietro’s terms before handing him the book. But that doesn't mean he's looking forward to it. And it doesn't make him feel any less like he got the short end of the stick.

Watching Pietro Maximoff run is always something else. Not the barely-visible darting in circles he usually does. But actually watching him run - being able to see him - is like watching a cheetah. It's literally what he was built for. 

The twenty-whatever seconds it takes Pietro to run the 200 meters must feel like a regular run for him. Lance sets his teeth when Pietro comes in second behind Scott Summers. He has to, Lance knows that, to keep his mutation a secret. But he feels the frustration in Pietro's eyes. Pietro is faster than all these assholes, especially Summers. He can practically hear the fucking X-Men accusing him of cheating. As if he couldn't run circles around them without even trying.

"We _both_ know if I beat him, he'll accuse me of using my powers," Pietro says when Lance complains about  it later.

"It's still bullshit. You're way faster than them."

"When there's mutant track and field, I'll make _everyone_ eat my dust. How's that?"

Lance shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they walk towards the school.

"You want to go to algebra for me?" he asks with a slight groan.

"That depends. Do you want to go to AP calc instead? We're doing _integration_ today. It is _very_ exciting."

Lance makes an exaggerated gagging sounds, describing exactly how he feels about AP anything. Pietro Maximoff, overachiever. Lance Alvers, taking most of his classes for the second time. Whatever. It's not like he was ever college bound.

He spends the hour doodling in the margins of his notebook. He gets called on at least once, and responds only with a shrug. Kitty scowls back at him each time. It makes his stomach sink a little. Pietro is right; he isn't good enough for her.

"What do you say we study together some time?" he asks after the bell rings.

Kitty scoffs.

"Like, as if. Why would I study with someone who will bring my grade down?"

"If you can help me understand it, then you'll understand it better."

"Not happening, Lance."

He watches her walk off, but he only has time to pout for a second before an arm wraps around his shoulders.

"Hey, Alvers, can I borrow your keys?"

"What-? No. Why?"

"You see that redhead over by my locker?"

"The one without a bra?"

"She _had_ a bra."

Lance grimaces.

"Ew, dude. I'm not letting you have sex in my ride."

"Oh, come on. Don't you have that scrapbook history project coming up?"

"Ye- No, no way. You aren’t bribing me on this one, Maximoff. Find another place to fuck."

"Come _on_ , Lance. She's a _gymnast_. I'll do your entire project, _and_ I'll write some of the captions in German. Actual German, not the Google translate crap."

"Tempting, but I'll pass."

"I'll teach you to hit on Kitty in French."

This gets Lance's attention.

"French?"

"Mhm.  What do you say?"

Lance huffs, and grudgingly shoves his keys into Pietro’s hand.

"Don't you fucking dare make a mess."

Pietro makes a quick promise and darts off with a grin.

Lance shuffles to the cafeteria, sits at the usual table, and doesn't see Pietro for another half hour. He watches, entirely unimpressed, as Pietro pulls up a chair and drops the keys unceremoniously on the table.

"Where you been, Pee-ay-troh?"

"Please don't ask," Lance groans.

But Todd and Fred are looking at Pietro curiously, and it wouldn't be Pietro if he didn't brag. Except he doesn't brag much, only mentions that he just had absolutely amazing sex in Lance's precious Jeep. They demand a name, but Pietro shakes his head.

"Unlike you slobs, I'm actually a fucking gentleman."

Uh-huh. Sure he is.


	6. Chapter 6

Lance can hear a faint buzzing noise somewhere inside the house. There's a smell of bleach and soap and he isn't sure he's fully awake. He thinks he might be having a stroke. As far as he knows, though, people only smell burnt toast. He's never heard of anyone smelling bleach when they're having a stroke. But as he moves to the kitchen to get some water, the sound and the smell get stronger.

"What the-?"

Pietro gives no indication of having heard him and keeps scrubbing at the floor. It's only when Lance moves closer does he see why.

Droplet after droplet of blood falls, stark contrast against the cold, white ceramic tile. The buzzing is coming from Pietro’s lips, frantic murmurs as he scrubs feverishly.

"Pietro, it's four in the fucking morning. What are you doing down here? Are you bleeding? Hey, look at me. Are you even listening to me?"

He grabs Pietro’s arm, more than a little roughly.

"Look at me!"

Pietro gasps as if Lance had pulled him from under water.

"Hey, easy. Your nose is bleeding."

"I- It'll stain the floor. I need to clean it before it stains."

Pietro’s agitation and jerky movements only make things worse. There's a box of tissues just within arm's reach. Lance grabs a few and presses them to Pietro’s face, pinching the bridge of his nose despite the speedster' s attempt to resume cleaning. Pietro lets out an anxious whimper.

"Easy," Lance coaxes, "take it easy. It's just a little nosebleed. Nothing to freak out over."

Pietro is shivering, practically vibrating against Lance. It takes a few long seconds for him to slow down enough for Lance to understand him.

"I couldn't sleep. I- I had to clean the floor. There's so much blood everywhere."

Woah. OCD much? Where the hell is this coming from?

Pietro Maximoff is thin, and effeminate, and delicate-looking. But Lance would never call him vulnerable. Except, now, with his big, baby blue eyes nearly brimming over with tears, it's an almost fitting description.

"It looks clean enough. It'll still be here in the morning."

Pietro nods slowly

"I think your nose stopped bleeding. How'd that happen, anyway?"

"I don't know," Pietro says. "I used to get the all the time when I was a kid."

Lance tucks some of Pietro’s hair back.

"I did, too, when my mutation first started. Doesn't happen so much now."

"I'm not good with blood. I- It gets to me."

The silence is heavy. Lance wants to say something else but he doesn't know what. He can feel Pietro’s warmth and he wants to step into it. He can't explain why. Maybe he's just that tired, or maybe because Pietro really does look delicate right now.

"You know," Pietro murmurs, "you're quite handsome in the right light."

Lance's face goes hot. He isn't entirely sure how to feel about the words. If they came from any other man, Lance would have punched them. He hasn't completely sure he doesn't want to punch Pietro.

"Uhm- thanks?"

Pietro laughs, light and soft.

"You know, my offer is still open."

"Offer?"

"To fuck me. It wouldn't mean anything. Just a hot, dirty fuck. No one would know."

There's no purr in his voice, no indication that he's describing anything more than a business transaction. It makes Lance uneasy. Pietro's just deflecting or some shit.

"I'm not that desperate."

"You say that like you don't jack off every night. The walls are thin, Lance."

"You listen?"

"You're loud."

Lance scowls. He hadn’t thought he was being loud. Maybe Pietro is bullshitting. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Anyway, you know where to find me if you ever change your mind."

"I'm not gay."

"Neither am I."

"I'm not- whatever you are, either. I like girls. Only girls."

Pietro shrugs.

"I don't care if you don't want to fuck me. I get enough action. I'm just curious what you're like in bed."

"I'm great in bed."

"Mhm. Sure you are."

Lance wants to yell at him, especially when Pietro stands on his toes and kisses his cheek. But the words stick in his throat and all he can do is watch Pietro dart up the stairs without even putting the floor cleaner away. He shoves it all into the cabinet under the sink and grabs his water before going back to bed. He pulls the sheets over his head and doesn't give Pietro Maximoff another thought.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance gives in to temptation.

Lance isn't desperate. If he wanted to find someone to fuck, he would. He's just waiting for Kitty. She's the only girl he wants.

But Pietro isn't a girl, pretty as he is.

It isn't like Pietro is an exception to the rule. He doesn't want Pietro, he wants what Pietro can do. He's never forgotten that night - though he's still not entirely sure how much was his imagination - when Pietro went down on him.

He wants that again, but he has no idea how to ask for it. His hand isn't giving him the satisfaction he's been craving and it's becoming unbearable. He tries about a half a dozen times, and chickens out about a half dozen times.

Eventually, he realises that he doesn't have to. Pietro seems to have an instinct for noticing when someone wants to do filthy things with him. And maybe a blowjob is fairly tame, but the thought makes Lance burn up. It wouldn't be so bad if Pietro was a girl. But then, Lance doesn't want any girl but Kitty.

Pietro slips into his room after everyone else has gone to bed and locks the door.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"You're the one who came here. What do _you_ want?"

Lance feels a little breathless. There's a knot in his stomach and a desperate heat further down.

"I want you to stop staring like you can't decide if you want to hit me or fuck me."

"What if I decide I want to hit you?"

Pietro laughs, completely unbothered.

"You could try it. I can't say I'd make it easy."

"And if I want to fuck you?"

This time, Pietro undoes the top two buttons on his shirt. There's a smirk on his lips, a silent, 'I knew it.'

"I won't fight you so much on that one."

"Maybe I don't want either."

"Maybe you're full of it."

"Like fuck I am," Lance snaps.

"So then what do you want, Alvers? Why do you keep looking at me like you'd rather I was naked?"

"I don't want you- naked. I want you to- to blow me again."

Pietro raises an eyebrow and Lance has a sinking suspicion that 'again' is the wrong  word.  There's a look on his face that's mostly annoyed and mostly impatient at the same time.

"I'm offering you _anal_ and you want a _blow job_?"

"I'm not- into guys."

But yeah, that does sound like a better option.

"An ass is an ass. But fine. I like giving head, anyway. Sit down and get your cock out."

Lance does as he's told. Could Pietro make it any less romantic? Well. They aren't here for romance. His jeans are discarded, and he pulls his shirt up a little. If his cock wasn't still begging for more than his own hand, he might have been bothered by how businesses-like Pietro was being.

"If you don't want-"

"If I didn't _want_ to do this, I _wouldn't_."

Lance looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes as Pietro - Kitty, he tells himself - settles between his thighs. Long fingers curl around him and stroke. A mouth sucks at his head, pink tongue laving attention on any skin it could reach. His cock starts to swell without any hesitation.

It's easy to pretend that it's Kitty's head in his lap. Except Lance isn't sure if Kitty can deep throat that well, and - "Holy fuck!" - she definitely can't vibrate her tongue like that. He pushes his hands into Pietro’s soft hair. And it is _so_ soft. It makes the fantasy all the more real. Pietro’s mouth hasn't been on his cock long and already, Lance's thighs are starting to quiver.

"Wait," he gasps, "stop. Tro, stop."

Pietro pulls off of Lance's cock with a wet pop. His lips are wet with spit and precum, cheeks flushed, and pupils dilated with his own arousal. He isn't a girl, making him the complete opposite of Lance's type, but Lance doesn't think it's gay to find the sight a little too appealing.

Well, maybe it's a little gay. But it's getting hard to ignore that he might be a little gay, too. 

"Something wrong?" Pietro asks.

"You're gonna make me cum."

"That's kind of the _point_."

Lance swallows a few times. His cock is throbbing, pleading for attention. He needs to pull himself together. 

"I want- fuck- Is fucking you still an option?"

Pietro smirks.

"You ever done anal before?"

"Yeah, a couple times."

"Good. So I don't have to hold your hand."

Pietro slips out of his clothes, and Lance yanks off his shirt. Brown eyes watch Pietro settle on his hands and knees, his weight making the mattress dip. Neither of them says anything but Lance makes a mental note that Pietro doesn't dye his hair.

Lance rubs Pietro’s hip and thigh, silently urging him to relax. Not that it's needed. Pietro only tenses when Lance pours some of the lube he'd fished from his bedside table onto Pietro’s hole.

"It's just a little cold," he murmurs when Lance asks about it.

Lance keeps his eyes on Pietro's ass. The curves are subtle, but enough to pass as feminine. He can feel Pietro’s hard, compact muscles beneath his soft skin and he admits to no one but himself that maybe Pietro <i>does</i> have more muscle than he does. It isn't just in his legs like Lance thought. It's everywhere, and it's actually quite sexy in a very unexpected way.

But he's thinking of Kitty as he fingers the man under him, stretching him out slowly and ignoring the cock between white thighs. The moans are muffled by the pillow Pietro’s face is pressed into.

"Are you ready?"

Pietro nods, his fingers tangled into the sheets. The flush that had started at his cheeks spread over his chest and shoulders in uneven spots.

"Go slow."

The words catch Lance by surprise. He'd have thought Pietro would want it fast. And he really wants to just rush into it. But he doesn't want to hurt Pietro. This isn't just about him.

Even through the condom, Lance can feel the heat of Pietro’s body around him. Lance doesn't close his eyes until his hips are pressed flush against Pietro’s ass. He listens for any sign that he's hurting him and only hears a breathy whimper.

"You okay?"

"God, just move already," Pietro moans, shifting his hips to get some friction. 

Lance leans forward and shudders. Pietro's tight and hot, and he wants it. That's the best part. How Pietro sighs and presses back at every thrust. How he bites down on the pillow, long fingers curled into tight fists. Lance traces his hand down Pietro's slight curves and pulls him forward. He leans down, chest flush against Pietro's back, pressing his mouth to his pale neck. He's going to tell himself for the next however long until he forgets about this that he's thinking about a girl, about Kitty right now.

But, fuck, he knows better. He knows, when Pietro gasps his name, that he isn't thinking about anybody else. All he's thinking about is how good Pietro smells and how good he feels and how good he looked with Lance's cock in his mouth. He pushes a hand into Pietro's soft hair and kisses his ear.

"Fuck, pretty boy, I'm gonna cum," he moans.

Pietro moans and clenches around him.

"So cum."

With an invitation like that, how can he not? He grips Pietro's hair with a mindless mental note to apologize later and shudders. God, he wishes there wasn't the condom but he really can't find it in himself to complain. He barely manages to stifle the moan as he shudders, spilling into the latex. He lets himself enjoy the warmth, kissing Pietro's neck, until his cock softens and slips out on its own.

He rolls over onto his back. Pietro does the same. His cock is still hard and red at the tip. Holy shit, it's gorgeous. Lance had never thought about Pietro's cock before. Okay, once. Maybe twice. Twice that was it. He shouldn't be surprised that Pietro's cock is pretty - as far as cocks go. Every part of him is pretty.

Pietro strokes himself quickly and evenly, but still slowly enough that Lance can see it. He writhes, gasping and panting and shuddering against the sheets. His free hand brushes over his chest, neck, up into his hair, then back down to bite two of his fingers. Fucking shit, Lance is almost getting hard again. Pietro's hips jerks off the mattress and he cums, spilling onto himself with a muffled cry.

Lance has to look away before Pietro notices him staring. He pulls the condom off and ties the end before trashing it. When he looks back, Pietro's already cleaned his stomach with some tissues.

"Not bad," he murmured as if his skin isn't still flushed.

He leans in and kisses Lance's lips. Before Lance can kiss back, he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while. I have an original novel coming out next month and I've been a little swamped with that. But I think sex makes up for it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Logan doesn't have the patience for this, Lance fucks up, and I address something that's been bothering me for, like, 16 years.

Pietro doesn't sleep much. It isn't that he doesn't need to, or that he doesn't want to. Well, sometimes he doesn't want to. Sometimes, he has a sinking feeling in his gut and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, like something is standing just outside his field of vision, ready to pounce when he lowers his guard. He always knows the nightmares are coming on those nights. 

It's three in the morning and Pietro’s eyes are burning but he doesn't let himself close them. He'd almost screamed when he'd woken up with an almost violent abruptness and found his chest hot and damp. But he'd quickly realised it was only sweat, not blood, and buried his face in the pillow.

He isn't shaking anymore but he isn't ready to attempt sleep again. It isn't so bad when he isn't alone. But he knows it's too late to go out and find someone, or call someone he's already fucked. That doesn't stop him from scrolling through the contacts in his phone, a long list of pretty boys and pretty girls with pictures next to each name. He never deletes a name, even though he so rarely calls any of them back. 

There's an empty space between Claire Westsomething and Daniel Abs where Dad should be. It makes his stomach twist and he thinks he might be sick.

He doesn't fall asleep again until close to six. His alarm goes off at 6:30 despite it being Saturday. Sleeping in is lazy, he tells himself as he stumbles to the bathroom. The shower is quick, all of 37 seconds. His shampoo smells like strawberries and his soap smells like oranges. Expensive stuff. He shuts off the water before the it's  warm enough to make him want to sleep.

Rogue is in the kitchen when he gets downstairs. She's still in pyjamas, but she seems more awake than Pietro feels.

"Are yah seriously goin' for a run this early? It ain't even light out yet," she says, handing over the carton of orange juice when he motions for it.

"I'm a morning person."

"Clearly. Hey, why ain't yah on the track team anymore?"

Pietro’s shoulders tighten but he tries not to let her see it. He washes the glass and puts it back in the cupboard, straightening the ones next to it.

"I'm tired of having to come in second place."

By the time Rogue thinks of a response, Pietro is out the door.

The air is crisp, and it does wonders for waking him up. He runs at a normal pace for half an hour, to a coffee shop he likes. It isn't like the places he'd go to in New York when he had the money for it, but it's good. His skin is damp with sweat again but it doesn't make him panic this time. He orders an apricot tea  - even though he shouldn't be drinking black tea - and a cinnamon bun. He fishes some change out of his pocket.

"I got it," a gruff voice says from behind Pietro, "and add a coffee while you're at it. Black."

Pietro wonders if he should recognise this man. He's short, but broad and clearly ripped. Not exactly Pietro’s type, but that doesn't stop Pietro from wondering what his cock looks like and what those hands would feel like on his hips. He wonders what he would have to say to get this man into bed. But he doesn't want that, not today. He's too keyed up to tolerate any kind of touch today.

He sits by the window and the man joins him without invitation.

"Look, kid. I wasn't planning on running into you here. But since I did, we should talk. Charles isn't going to, and someone needs to."

Pietro narrows his eyes.

"You're from the Xavier school. Which one are you- Logan? Fine, _Logan_. I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."

"I ain't selling. I just want to talk. I know you're mad at Charles. I'm not sure how much I really blame you. But the thing is, everyone thought Magneto's kids were dead."

His heart speeds up. How much does Logan know? How much is Pietro supposed to know?

The panic wears off and anger bubbles under his skin. How dare Logan try to justify Charles leaving him with Magneto? They have no idea what Pietro went through because of it. The experiments, the abandonment, the abuse. And they have the nerve to act like he's the one at fault?

" _He_ didn't. I know he's been to see Wanda. Why is she worth saving and not me?"

Logan hesitates. He frowns, his eyes shifting down to his coffee.

"It isn't like that. Cerebro can't find you, but it _can_ find Wanda. Charles thought that meant you were gone. By the time he found out the truth, it was too late. How was he supposed to find someone he thought was dead?"

Pietro doesn't want to admit that it's a reasonable assumption. He had been very sick as a child, before his mutation came in. It would be easy to assume he'd succumb to illness. The last time he remembered Charles visiting was when he was at his worst.

He doesn't want to admit it's a reasonable assumption because it isn't. Charles should have known better. If he'd stayed, he would have know. 

"He shouldn't have left me with him in the first place," Pietro says bitterly.

He picks at the cinnamon bun and licks icing off his fingers. If he wanted to, he could make a show of it. He doesn't want to. He feels sick.

"I'm not saying he should have. I can't imagine what growing up with Magneto must have been like, but I-"

"No," Pietro agrees with a hiss, "you can't. So don't expect me to get on my knees and suck Xavier's dick just because you bought me breakfast. Not after what he let happen to me. Now if you don't mind..."

Logan doesn't need to be told twice. Pietro tries not to see the apologetic look on his face when he turns back.

\--

It's close to ten when Lance finds Pietro in the living room.

If they didn't talk about the blowjob, then they _definitely_ don't talk about the sex. Lance had expected Pietro to tease him about it, but so far he hadn't brought it up at all. He almost wonders if he'd imagined it. But there is no way he could have imagined _that_.

Lance can't help but glance at the bare shoulders he'd appreciated so much last week. Sweat slides down Pietro’s muscles, settling at the base of his spine.

"You've never seen a guy do pushups before?" Pietro asks, moving an arm behind his back.

"Never seen _you_ do it before."

Pietro pauses to count the reps, then switches arms and does the same. He sits back on the floor, stretching his arms over his head. His joints crack.

"I could give you something to _really_ look at," he grins.

Lance grimaces and waits for Pietro to bring up their fuck. He doesn't, only winks at him. It's nothing he wouldn't have done before.

Pietro moves to his feet as quickly and as fluidly as he does everything else. As much as he tries to control the way he moves, he can only do so much. It makes him look like a dancer, an easy cover for the odd occasion on which somebody asks about it.

It's pretty, but Lance is relieved to see that the attraction he'd had to the speedster was only around at night. Not all nights, either. Just that one night, when he'd been unbelievably horny.

Lance catches Pietro's arm. He feels Pietro tense up but it doesn't last. Maybe he's only flexing.

"About the other night..." He can't not bring it up. It's driving him crazy. "It- it shouldn't have happened. I'm not- like that. It was a mistake. It's not happening again."

He doesn't dare look up, and it's probably for the best.

Pietro pries his arm from Lance's loose hold none too gently.

Crap. Crap, he fucked up. 

"I need to shower."

They don't talk again for the rest of the weekend.


	9. Chapter 9

Pietro doesn't get dressed and leave right away. The first few times, he did. But now they talk. It's nice. His arms are tucked under his head and the sheets are over his waist, exposing the back Lance is so fond of.

"You say that every time," he murmurs, "and every time, it's a lie."

"I mean it this time. No more sex."

Pietro laughs and lifts his head long enough to push Lance's hair from his face.

"You're getting better. But you still need practice."

Lance's snorts and gives him a light shove. He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, and sighs.

"I can't believe Rogue really left..." 

"What do you care? She wanted to be one of them from the start," Pietro snaps.

"Well, she was one of us." 

"One of us wouldn't leave to be one of them."

"We're only here because the better option didn't want us. If you had a choice, wouldn't you rather be there?"

Pietro thinks about the napkin that Logan had scribbled his phone number onto with a soft, "if you need anything," a number sitting in his phone with no picture next to the name. He thinks about the cold regard his father has for him, about the childhood that fuels his nightmares and leaves him lying awake at night. He thinks about the way Magneto had pushed a hand through his hair and called him a good boy, the same way so many other men had but without the kisses to his jaw and guilt that usually accompanied. He thinks about he nights he'd spent curled up under the sheets, crying from hunger pangs and trying not to listen to the sound of his so-called-foster mom being fucked on the other side of the wall.

He thinks of Evan and Ororo, who had some idea that his home life was less than decent and did nothing to help him. He thinks of Uncle Charles talking in hushed voices to Father about sending the boy to a hospital, dammit, and leaving without ever coming back. He thinks of the first time he could breathe properly. 

He thinks about Wanda, screaming for their father not to leave her alone in that awful place.

"What difference does it make?" Pietro asks, his voice tight. "They don't want us."

"You think Mystique manipulated us, too? To get us here?"

Pietro mulls over the possibility. Not for himself, of course. Mystique can't imitate the buzzing he'd felt in his piercing. But maybe, for the rest of them...

"Could be. But the X-Men would still be trying to get you on their side like they did with Rogue. Would you leave, too, if it turns out she did?"

"I dunno. Sometimes I think I would, sometimes I think I wouldn't. I'd have a better chance with Kitty. What about you? Would you go if you could?"

It seemed like a waste of a question. He couldn’t. He never would be able to. Not when he owes Magneto for getting him out of jail. Not so long as Magneto is still alive. And he would never die. 

Besides, Charles had left him. Maybe he had no right taking Magneto's children from him. Maybe it would have been suicide trying. But Pietro can't find it in himself to forgive him. Not when he still dreams of Magneto's syringes and scalpels, and foster-bitch's boyfriends, and asylums and blood and awful punishments Magneto might inflict for imagined slights. Not when he can't get more than three hours of sleep when he's alone and the only affection he gets is from strangers who only love him when he's naked. 

"Tro?"

"No. I wouldn't. Not even if they begged."

Lance grins and nudges him.

"What if Summers begged you? 'Oh, Pietro,'" he moans in a horrible impression of Scott Summers, "'please come join the X-Men so I can suck your cock every night. I want you to replace the stick up my ass with your cock. Make me your bitch.'"

He ends with a ridiculous moan.

Pietro presses his face into the pillow to muffle his laughter. He's sure everyone else is asleep by now, but he's not taking any chances.

"I think you're confusing my fantasy with yours."

Lance shakes his head. 

"Nah. He has no ass. I prefer yours."

Pietro laughs, his eyelids heavy. He feels Lance pulling the sheets up over his shoulders more than he sees it.

"Why don't you sleep here tonight? You look way too wiped to make it back to your room."

Pietro hums in response, already drifting off. The sex and the surge of anxious rage had taken a lot out of him. Lance doesn't hold him, but Pietro can feel the warmth from his body and the dip in the mattress from his weight. 

It's a relief when he doesn't dream. 

He doesn't wake up until 6:30 the next morning. He kisses Lance's cheek and slips out of bed without waking him. 

The house is quiet. It feels like the entire world is quiet. No one is going to wake up for another half hour at least. 

Fully dressed and smelling like fruit, Pietro sits on one of the steps outside the house. His thumb hovers over the phone number his father had called him from a week ago, asking about the Brotherhood's progress. He takes a deep breath and presses the call button. 

"The number you have reached is not in service. Please hang u-"

Pietro pushes his hand through his hair. He'd expected as much. Magneto never calls from the same number twice. He tries another number. It rings, and Pietro doesn't think he'll get anything but voice mail. He almost jumps when someone actually answers.

"Hello?" Logan drawls, more than half-asleep.

Pietro’s voice sticks in his throat. 

"Hello?"

He hangs up with a choked sound. What the fuck is he doing? Calling an X-Man... What if Magneto sees his phone records? But he wouldn’t know who it is. And he'd hung up after a couple seconds. It could be a wrong number.

Lance is yelling at someone - probably Fred - for putting the empty milk carton back in the fridge. It's half past seven. They'll be leaving for school in ten minutes. At least, they should be. They never leave on time.

Pietro shoves his phone into his pocket and takes off at nowhere near his top speed, but still fast enough that if Lance's Jeep had any decent alarm system, it would be going off. He runs into another time zone and watches the sun rise again.

His phone rings in his pocket at 8:21 AM, Bayville time. Pietro lets it ring. He'll spend an hour that night trying desperately to reach that number and crying until he can't breathe when he only gets that same automated message he always gets, but it doesn't matter right now. Nothing matters right now.


	10. Chapter 10

"So how come you never told us Magneto is your fucking _father_?" Lance demands.

His face is still bruised but he's so used to it, he barely notices. That doesn't make him want to think about what his chest looks like, though.

"Yeah," Fred says, "you should 'a told us."

Lance can practically hear the, _'you never asked'_ coming.

"What fucking difference does it make?"

"Heh. None apparently," Toad sneers. "He still made you fight for a spot on Planet Mutant-" Nobody corrects him. _Asteroid M_ is just as stupid. "- just like the rest of us. Meanwhile, Summers gets a free ride. Guess your old man likes him bett- _Ah_!"

At this point, no one blames Pietro for the Todd-shaped dent he leaves in the wall.

"That's even worse than having Mystique for a mom," Fred says sympathetically.

"What do _you_ know?" Pietro snaps.

"I know that if Magneto was _my_ dad, I'd be in a bad mood all the time, too."

Pietro rolls his eyes.

Something had been bothering Lance since they'd made the connection between the two mutants. It wasn’t like they'd figured it out on their own. They hadn't.

Magneto had acted impressed that Pietro had made it. Pietro responded sarcastically, tacking on a bitter, _'Father'_ at the end.

That was it. But Lance felt like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. Connecting Magneto and Pietro gives him an uneasy feeling. He suddenly thinks why.

"Tro... You said you were six when your powers kicked in, right?"

"Yeah..."

The conversation had been ages ago. He almost isn't sure it really happened.

"How long's been trying to 'evolve' mutants? How long's he been experimenting on them?"

Pietro shrugs as if the questions don't matter. Even Fred and Todd catch on to Lance's meaning.

"Are you saying he-"

Pietro moves to sit behind Lance.

"Hey," he says as if Lance had never spoken, "how did I get out of his screaming metal deathtrap, anyway? Last I remember, Rogue knocked me out. That bitch..."

"Spyke pulled you out," Lance says impatiently.  "Did Magn-"

" _Spyke_? Why _Spyke_?"

"I dunno. Guess he knew no one else would."

What Lance meant was that Evan _figured_ no one else would. No one else had been close enough and no one else had noticed. Lance would have pulled him out if he'd been able to. Fred would have, too. Probably even Todd if he had any upper body strength to speak of. He likes to think Magneto would have but he can't help be skeptical.

"Right," Pietro manages. "Obviously."

His voice is tight, almost cracking. Dammit, why can't Lance say anything right?

"I didn’t mean-"

But Pietro is gone.

"Dammit... _Dammit_!"

 

\--

 

It's late enough that the bars are open and late enough that they're mostly empty. Pietro flashes an expertly made fake ID. He has no problem getting in and he has less of a problem getting someone - several someones - to buy him drinks. He even lets an older woman with fake nails and fake breasts feel his chest. He impresses himself by not throwing up or crying.

He isn't drunk but he's buzzed enough to want someone to fill his loneliness. No one here interests him.

Evan saved him. Maybe Evan still likes him, at least enough not to let him die on a fucking asteroid ( _'Seriously, Father. What the fuck? Buy an island like a normal rich weirdo._ '). But the only number he has for him is from New York and he doesn't think he'll answer anyway.

But he needs _someone_.

Logan's number is still in his phone. He orders another drink and dials. He almost jumps when Logan actually answers with a gruff, "Hello?"

"Hi. It's- It's Pietro. Maximoff. You gave me your number a couple months ago."

"I remember."

"I- uhm. I don't know why I called you. I just- it's been a really shitty night."

There's a long pause. He wonders if Logan hung up on him.

"Where are you?"

Pietro sniffles. He isn’t going to cry, he isn't that pathetic.

"Bar off Thompson. Biting Bear, I think."

"I'll be there in ten."

\--

Logan arrives in twelve. Pietro is too busy kissing some blonde college kid  to notice he's late. Logan clears his throat and glares. College kid gets the picture and takes off.

"You came."

"You're drunk, kid."

Pietro shakes his head.

"I can't get drunk. Fast metabolism. I just buzz."

"That's one hell of a buzz. So what makes tonight shittier than most nights?"

When Logan told him where he was going, Scott had worried that it might be a trap. Logan wasn't ready to disagree entirely - they had no idea what had happened to Magneto - but he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to get Pietro on their side, regardless of what Charles says. And besides Magneto's kid or not, he doesn't deserve to be left alone in a seedy bar.

Pietro starts talking. He talks and talks and talks and Logan only catches about half of every other word. But he gets the jist of it. He also gets that if Pietro had anyone else - and if he was sober - he'd never be confessing his pain to Logan.

He can't deny that seeing this kind of loneliness in someone so young breaks his heart a little.

"They're right, though. I'm broken. Not even my own father loves me."

"I don't think he _can_ love, kid."

"He can. He loved my mother. And he loved my sister. My older one. She died before I was born."

Logan has a twinge of sympathy for Magneto.  But Pietro's tears harden his heart again.

"Well, who needs him, anyway? Listen. You're a decent kid. You're gonna find someone who loves you more than anything in the world. Someone who'll help you recover from all the shit your old man put you through."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I do."

He doesn't. As much as he wants to believe otherwise, he thinks Pietro is too far gone, too twisted in his own pain and anger. And so long as Magneto is calling the shots, he has no chance. But Pietro doesn't need to know that.

Pietro chews his lower lip for a few seconds, mulling over Logan's words.

Logan doesn't know now many drinks he's had or how long he's been here. Long enough that a nice hickey's developed on the side of his neck. When he leans forward and presses a kiss to Logan's lips, it's really his own fault for not seeing it coming. 

He kisses back reflexively until he realises just whose mouth is pressing against his.

"Woah-! Easy, kid. What the hell are you doing?"

Pietro frowns in confusion. His cheeks are pink from the drinks and from the few tears he'd allowed himself to shed. They'd dried up but his eyes well up all over again.

"I thought- I mean- I- I need to go home."

Pietro stands abruptly, knocking the stool over

"Let me give you a ride."

"Just- Just leave me alone."

Logan watches Pietro run out of the bar. He wonders if he should go after him. Maybe he'll ask someone to see if he's at school tomorrow. Maybe not.

He orders a Scotch and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's another hour before he drives back to the mansion. He assures Scott, who wouldn't go to sleep until he was sure that Pietro hadn't hurt him, that Pietro had no intention of doing anything to him. Anything violent, at least, he doesn't add.

Charles, no less concerned than Scott, is in the library.

"You shouldn't have gone to meet with him. Pietro Maximoff is dangerous. There's no telling what he might have done to you."

Logan sighs, sitting in an armchair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He's in no mood to be lectured.

"That kid needs help, Chuck. Whatever Magneto did to him really fucked him up."

"Well what would you have me do? Bring him here?"

For starters, Logan thinks but doesn't say.

"I don't know. But I'm worried about him."

Charles sighs.

"I understand. But there's nothing we can do for him."

He says it so finally that Logan is inclined to believe him.


	11. Chapter 11

"I am so sick," Lance shouts, kicking a chair over, "of having to hide our powers all the time! Just 'cause the X-Men are afraid, don't mean we got to be."

"Who's afraid?" Pietro drawls from his position by the stairs. "When Magneto's ready-"

"And when the hell's that gonna' be?" Lance demands, jabbing his finger at Pietro's chest. "Where the hell is he, anyway? We ain't heard from him since his rock blew up. If he's planning something, we sure as hell don't know about it. Unless you know something we don't."

Pietro narrows his eyes, straightening up, and Lance storms back to the other end of the room, stomping his feet. Lance knows better than to push and accuse when Pietro’s eyes look like that.

"Anyway, I say we just stop hiding."

"You say a lot of stupid things."

"Nah, I think he's onto somethin' here."

Todd hops onto the coffee table. Pietro makes a mental note to scrub it down later. 

"People think we're scary now? Wait 'til they see what we can really do."

Pietro pushes himself off the railing and darts in front of Lance.

"What are you going to do? Split the city in two? Don't be a fucking idiot."

"Aren't you tired, Pietro? Always having to slow down. I know it hurts you."

Lance brushes a stray lock of hair from Pietro’s face. Pietro only slaps his hand away. He knows Lance is only being sweet to him to manipulate him. He isn't stupid. Magneto does it, too.

"C'mon, Tro. You won't have to hide anymore. Who knows when Magneto is going to make his big move? It could be years. Do you really want to keep living like this that long?"

Lance is good, Pietro has to admit it at least to himself. But Magneto is better and far more frightening. There's not much Lance could do to him. But Magneto...

"Do you really want to deal with Magneto when he finds out?"

Lance falters. He might not know much about Magneto, but he knows enough. 

"Tell you what. There's that big soccer game on Friday. If Magneto shows and tells us to keep quiet before then, we stay home and mind our own business. If he doesn't, we show 'em a real good time."

"The X-Men will be there," Fred says, speaking for the first time.

"Even better," Lance grins. "Let's see them try to stop us without using their powers."

Pietro relents. He doesn't agree but he doesn't let himself protest too much. 

Every night until Friday finds him trying to reach his father. Eventually, he manages to reach a voicemail box on Friday morning. He listens to the generic, automated message that doesn't even give him the name of who he's leaving a message for, only regurgitating the phone number.

"Hey," he says quietly, ducking beside a locker, "it's me. I can't talk - I have to get to class - but you _need_ to call me back some time in the next few hours. It's really important."

Pietro considers coughing and pretending that whatever he had as a kid is back. But he doesn't think lying will end well for him.

"Please just call me back."

He hangs up and walks so horribly slowly to chemistry - AP chemistry, of course - with Very Old Mrs. Steele, who Pietro suspects is pushing 90 at best.

By the time the game rolls around, Pietro is sure he called the wrong number. Magneto would have called him back otherwise. He said it was important. Maybe he should have coughed. 

"You don’t have to do this if you don't want to," Lance says, cupping the back of Pietro’s neck. 

Fred and Todd are elsewhere. Pietro isn't sure where, exactly, but he doesn't care to ask. He wonders how many times people have said that to him. He replies automatically, "I want to."

"If this goes well-"

It won't, Pietro thinks.

"- I'll even touch your dick when we fuck tonight."

Pietro almost shudders. Lance never acknowledged that Pietro even has a cock when they spend the night together. It always makes the cold feeling in his stomach worse. He hopes more than he did before that it goes well.

It doesn't. 

Pietro isn't surprised. A confrontation with the X-Men never goes well. It's stupid Lance's stupid fault for suggesting this stupid idea. He's soaking wet and his uniform sticks to his skin. All he wants to do is curl up in bed with some tea or something. He doesn't even want to sleep with Lance. Stupid fucking Lance with his stupid fucking ideas.

His phone rings. He almost doesn't answer.

"It's about time you called me back."

"You are in no position to lecture me, boy. Come see me. Now."

Pietro swallows. 

"Where are you?"

Magneto gives him an address. Pietro changes into dry clothes and runs out before anyone notices him leave.

If he's nervous, he doesn't let it show. At least, he tries not to.

"Do you have any idea what you almost did?"

"It was Avalanche's idea."

"I don't care whose idea it was!" It sounds like such a parent thing to say. Maybe Magneto had said it at some point about him and Wanda fighting. "You are lucky Charles Xavier was able to remove the witnesses' memories. Stopping the news feed would have only done so much. You stupid child!"

"I spent all week trying to reach you! If you ever left me a working phone number, this wouldn't have happened!"

"If you weren't such an impatient, reckless child, this wouldn't have happened!"

Pietro’s nails dig into his palms. His lips taste dry.

"I tried calling you. What am I supposed to do if you don’t answer? What if I needed you? What it I was sick again? I could have been dying and you wouldn't have known!"

It isn't an exaggeration. But Magneto clearly doesn't like to be reminded of it. He does the only thing that always shuts him up and slaps him. Then, he slaps him again for good measure. 

Pietro’s blue eyes water at the sting. He covers his red cheek and tries not to cry.

"Leave," Magneto snaps. "The next time you try something like this, you will be sorry."

Pietro runs home and curls up under the sheets. When Lance comes looking for him, he pretends to be asleep. His face still hurts but it's the first time Magneto has touched him in ages. So, he bears it with a heavy heart.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance doesn't ask questions he doesn't want the answers to.

Lance is getting used to the feeling of Pietro's weight on his chest. There's something comforting in it. He watches Pietro press two fingers to his wrist with a raised eyebrow.

"What're you doing?"

"Checking something. Your pulse is really slow. I think we need to get it up again."

Lance laughs gives Pietro a light squeeze. They're both naked, limbs tangled together. It doesn't bother him with Pietro. The more he thinks about it, the less he minds the thought of being with guys. It seems more like something he'd just never bothered considering.

But he's still straight. Mostly. There's a few guys he wouldn't mind sleeping with. Pietro is about half of them. But he still only wants to be with Kitty. What he does with Pietro doesn't count.

"You're the one with the hummingbird heartbeat."

"Hummingbird?" Pietro looks up with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. They got real fast heartbeats. Learned it in science class. Mr. McCoy's pretty all right. For a teacher."

"I'm surprised you learn anything sitting next to Kitty." Pietro makes kissing sounds and laughs at Lance's deep flush. He only teases for a few seconds and moves on. "You know, McCoy asked me to join the soccer team. Someone tore their Achilles tendon and he needs to be replaced."

"Why'd he ask you?"

Pietro shrugs.

"I used to be on the team in New York during my freshman year."

"Why'd you stop playing? I bet you were good."

"I was great. After the championship game, I had sex with the assistant coach in the locker room. She was a senior, you know. Tits like you wouldn't believe. Anyway, it got boring after that."

Lance tries not to stiffen and keeps his breathing even. If Pietro was a freshman and she was a senior, that means... fourteen and... Lance decides not to do the math.

"It was good. For being in a locker room."

"Was that your first time?" Lance asks as evenly as he can.

"In a locker room or in general? Either way, yeah."

Pietro props himself up on an elbow.

"What about you? What was your first time like?"

Oh God, why are they talking about this?

"It was all right. I did it in the back of my Jeep with this girl from my old school. Would have been better if it wasn't so cramped. She was tall."

Pietro laughs and kisses Lance's chest.

"And you give me crap for fucking in your ride. Double standard much?"

Lance snorts. He tries to shake off the uneasy feeling he has in the pit of his stomach. It suddenly feels so wrong to be here with Pietro, and not just because they both have dicks. He hopes that Pietro doesn't notice his discomfort.

Tabby opens the door without knocking - really, though, why would she do anything so ridiculous as knocking? - and tosses Lance his keys.

"You're outta' gas, by the way. Hey, Pietro. Come visit me later, you dog," she grins.

Pietro blows her a kiss.

"You're sleeping with her, too?" Lance asks when the door clicks shut.

"Jealous? Nah, she's just playing."

"You don’t think she'll tell anyone about us, do you?"

It's not that he's embarrassed. It's just that, well, Kitty.

Pietro shakes his head. Lance's fingers are in his hair, stroking gently.

"Hey," he says, pulling Lance from the edge of sleep. "Let's run away together."

"What?"

Lance isn't sure he heard right. In fact, he's pretty sure he didn't.

"Let's get the fuck away from here."

"Why?"

As Lance speaks, they hear a small boom and Todd screeching.

"Fair enough. Okay, I'll bite. Hypothetically speaking, where would we go?"

Pietro hums in thought.

"I've always wanted to live in Italy."

"Ita- With what money? Are we gonna' rob a bank?"

"I could. But maybe something smaller."

There's no way Pietro is being serious. But Lance is curious about his train of thought. If he has one.

"What'll we do in Italy? I don't speak Italian."

"You'll learn. It's similar to Spanish."

"I don't speak Spanish either."

Pietro looks up.

"Really? Didn't you take it last year? Anyway- I could paint. I guess I'm a little old to be a concert pianist-"

"Old?"

"- but I'm a good painter. You can do whatever you want."

"Uh-huh. And where are we gonna' live on a painter's salary? Above a bakery?"

Pietro leans up, his shoulder muscles bulging from his weight. His eyes are bright.

"Why not? You and me in a tiny, one-bedroom loft. I'll flirt with the bakery owner to get free bread. We'll be able to hear street musicians from our window. Italy has a lot of street musicians. What do you say? Who needs high school?"

"Sounds like a dream. But I couldn't leave Kitty. Things are getting real good with us."

Pietro scowls. He doesn't manage to keep the hurt off his face. Lance pretends it's just the fantasy.

"Well she's not coming. She won't fit above the bakery. She'll have to sleep on the floor."

Lance laughs. See, it doesn't mean anything. Pietro is fun. But at the end of the day, he's Pietro and Kitty is Kitty. And it's not like he's even serious.

"You go, then. Send me a post card."

"I'll send it from my rich, Italian boyfriend's yacht."

Pietro sits up and stretches. He pulls his clothes on and leaves with a quick, "I'm going to get something to eat."

 

\--

 

Tabby is in the kitchen, painting her nails.

"Sleeping with him is a bad idea," she says.

"Are you talking to yourself?" Pietro asks with a grin.

"You know I'm gay, right?"

"You know I can vibrate my tongue, right?"

"Ooh, keep talking."

Pietro snatches the orange juice carton from her hand and finishes it.

"Hey, I was drinking that!"

"I'll make it up to you," he promises with a wink.

"You'd better, pretty boy. I mean it, though. Lance doesn't have feelings for you."

"Who says I have feelings for him?"

Really though, who would ever accuse Pietro of having feelings?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Christmas fucking sucks.

Christmas for the Brotherhood isn't the event it is for the X-Men. They don't have homes to go to. Pietro and Tabby's criminal fathers stay away. Of course, Magneto is Jewish and sulking over Angel so it's not like Pietro expects anything from him. But that's beside the point.

They do a Secret Santa. It's stupid, but it makes them feel a bit like it's a real holiday.

Fred had knit Pietro a seven-foot long scarf in the ugliest shade of orange, but Pietro wears it for the rest of the season anyway. Pietro gives Tabby a small vibrator, and she laughs about it until she cries. Lance gets a Metallica key chain from her that he suspects she stole. (He also suspects Pietro stole the vibrator, but he's not going to ask.) He gives Todd a jar of flies, and Todd gives Fred a buy-ten-get-one-free card from Subway with all ten places stamped.

They've all had better Christmases. Especially around midnight when the power cuts out.

Lance swears in a constant stream as he rummages around for candles. He can't not be glad the walls at least keep the wind out, but he can feel the temperature dropping inside.

"No one knock these over. Last thing we need is for the whole place to go up."

He gets a fire going in the fireplace using old homework and class notes. No one misses anything. He tells them they need to take turns keeping an eye on it.

Pietro curls up on the couch next to Tabby. His teeth are chattering almost painfully. The scarf is wrapped around his neck and two blankets are draped over them.

Lance joins them while Fred and Todd take the chair. He can see his breath. He doesn't think he'll ever get to sleep, especially not with Pietro’s teeth clicking together so loudly. That's not even mentioning the shivering that borders on vibrating. After an hour or four, the sound and the shaking stop. Lance lets out a relieved sigh - Pietro must have warmed up - and figures he might be able to fall asleep now.  Especially since Freddy is watching the fire.

It takes him a second to realize Pietro is speaking. His voice is slow and sluggish and he doesn't sound anything like himself.

"What?"

"I don'- feel so good..."

Lance frowns and grabs the nearest candle. He can't tell much but Pietro doesn't look good, either. He pulls a mitten off and presses the backs of his fingers to Pietro’s cheek. Immediately, he pulls them away.

"Pietro, you're freezing! Tabby, wake up. Wake the fuck up!" 

"What's wrong?" Fred asks, shuffling over while Tabby groans.

"He's really cold. _Really_   fucking cold."

Todd, awoken by Fred's moving, squints in the dark.

"He ain't just cold. He's blue as Fuzz Boy. I think he's got hypothermia, yo."

Pietro mumbles something in German or Polish or who-fucking-knows.

"Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. What do we do?"

Tabby, suddenly very much awake, leaps into action.

"Get him close to the fire. Toad, get all the blankets you can find."

"I already-"

"Well find some more! Bring some socks, too. Let's just hope none of his toes 've fallen off yet. Pass me that hat."

Lance moves Pietro to the fire. Fred brings the couch.

"'m tired," Pietro murmurs.

"I know. Just try and stay awake a little. We'll get you warmed up," he promises, rubbing Pietro’s arms.

"I'm going to grab a couple hot water bottles," Tabby says, striding to the kitchen.

"We have no hot water," Lance reminds her.

"I'll improvise!"

Lance doesn't want to know how. He hears a couple firecrackers go off but he elects to ignore it. He slides the socks onto Pietro’s feet and wraps the blankets around him.

"Freddy, come sit here. You're warmer than me."

Tabby shoves three rubber bottles into Lance's hands while Fred settles on the other side of the speedster.

"Put one under each of his armpits and one down his pants."

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding? Look, I lived out of my dad's car last winter. I know what I'm talking about."

Lance decides not to protest. She probably knows what she's doing, for once. He makes himself ignore Pietro’s whines as he unwraps the blankets. Pietro bats Lance's hand away when it moves to the front of his pants.

"Don' wanna'."

"I'm not doing anything, Tro. I'm just trying to help you get warm."

Pietro shakes his head and pushes weakly at Lance's hand again.

"Noo _ooo_."

Lance feels bile rising in the back of his throat. His nose starts to prickle and he blinks violently. Pietro <i>trusts</i> him.

"I- I can't," he chokes. "He said no."

Tabby obviously doesn't have the same apprehension that he does. She grabs the last water bottle and wriggles in between them. She distracts Pietro with a kiss - though Lance doesn't find _that_ part necessary - and shoves the water bottle down his pants.

It might be funny if Pietro’s pulse isn't still so slow.

"He's lookin' a little better," Todd says.

It comes out shaky.

None of them sleep that night. They pretend to, though. It's easier when Pietro’s teeth start chattering again.

The heat power doesn't come back until two the next afternoon. The sun coming through the windows in the morning warms them up a little in the meantime.

Tabby takes Lance's Jeep to the nearest coffee place when she wakes up and brings back coffee and hot chocolate and cookies. She even takes all the thermoses and the hot water bottles to get filled.

Pietro is more or less awake by the time she gets back.

"No toes fallen off?" she asks brightly.

"Nope," Pietro slurs. "My dicks still there, too, if you're wondering."

"I'm not."

She leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Pietro’s lips anyway. Lance doesn't mind it this time.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance makes two mistakes in one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long on this one. I wrote the LSAT yesterday so I haven't had time to write until today.

Lance's arm wraps around Pietro’s waist, his mouth moving across his shoulder blades as he braces his other hand against the headboard. He moves his hips at a steady pace.

"Fuck," he moans, "you feel so fucking good."

Pietro rolls his hips back, drowning in the sound of Lance's moans and praise. Every thrust of Lance's hips sends waves of pleasure through his nerves. His neglected cock twitches for friction but Pietro wants to pleasure Lance first.

He clenches his muscles, just momentarily, the way he knows makes Lance whimper. A hand moves into his hair

"That's it, baby. I love it when you do that."

So Pietro does it again. He's rewarded with a wet kiss to the back of his flushed neck. Precum drips from the head of his cock. He reaches down between his thighs, pushing his hips back, and smears the wetness over his shaft. It makes him shudder and moan into the pillow.

Lance's hips pick up in a familiar rhythm. He presses his face to Pietro’s soft, white hair that always smelled so good.

"Oh God," he moans, his breath hitching. "Oh my God, I love you. I love you, baby, fuck..."

Pietro gasps for air, baby blue eyes flying open. For a second, he thinks he stops breathing. Words he didn't think he wanted to hear fill him. His words stick and he can't speak past a lump in his throat.

It's just as well because Lance curls his fingers into Pietro’s hair and cums all of two seconds later with a soft moan of Kitty's name.

This time, Pietro knows he stopped breathing. He's never had a pain like this in his chest. It's all he can do to keep himself from crying. How pathetic would that be? He almost wants to laugh at himself. Lance loving him _is_  laughable. He doesn't laugh, though, and he manages not to cry. Not yet. He lets Lance pull out and takes a deep breath before sitting up.

Lance stares at the ceiling.

"Holy fuck... that was probably the best sex I ever had."

"Of course it was," Pietro says, managing the keep his voice teasing. It's easier when Lance can't see his face. But he knows he can't stay here tonight. "Look, I have a paper due tomorrow that I haven't even started yet."

"So don't do it."

"And let my grade drop? Fat chance."

Lance rolls over onto his stomach.

"Whatever you say."

Like he doesn't even care.

Pietro pauses, and lowers his voice when he speaks again.

"You know, we could still leave together. Go someone no one will be able to find us. Just you and me."

"Pass. Me and Kitty, on the other hand..."

Yeah. Him and Kitty.

"Whatever. Your loss."

"Whatever. Night."

Pietro is in his room before Lance finishes the word. He hadn’t even bothered pulling his clothes back on.

He tries not to think about his broken heart. It's easier said than done when his chest aches so painfully. He can't stop the tears and he doesn't want to. No one can see him. No one knows how pathetic he is. It's not like Lance noticed.

His pillow is soaked by the time he falls asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer. It's hardly restful. He wakes up every few hours with a headache that only gets worse and worse.

By the time Tabby is pounding on his door, opening his eyes is painful. Even thinking hurts.

"Don't you have a paper due? We're leaving in, like, two minutes."

Pietro hides under the covers until she gives up and leaves. When the house is empty, he ventures to the kitchen for some water. He finds a bottle of no-name Aspirin and swallows half of its contents. Eventually, the headache subsides. He looks awful and he knows it. He doesn't know how he can face Lance after this.

As it turns out, he doesn't need to. The next night, Lance leaves to join the X-Men.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless pwp, and Lance makes a decision.

It lasts about as long as they thought it would: Not very long at all.

By the time Lance slinks back to the Brotherhood, Pietro has moved on. He tells himself he has. He wants to kiss him, but he also wants to hit him. It's a start.

Kitty still takes Lance to the stupid Sadie Hawkins dance. Tabby takes Fred and Todd. It's actually kind of cute.

Four girls take Pietro. It was almost six but Sarah Stuart and Sarah Morin hate each other, and Sophie Nicole St. Denis doesn't share. Alice Ware and Irys Rojas leave after the dinosaur things crash the dance. Pietro doesn't blame them. He goes home with Sarah Stuart, who really is the prettier Sarah anyway, and Jana Morozevych.

Keeping two girls occupied at the same time is easy. Four might have been more fun. But Sarah rides him and Jana sits on his face and he's not going to complain. They kiss him and touch him and call him pretty.

He licks Sarah's pussy while Jana watches, fingering herself. Then they make him watch while they make out for his benefit.

Sarah slides behind him and tugs on his hair. Pietro has to tip his head back and loses sight of Jana's lips on his cock.

"I hear you like it up the ass, pretty boy," she purrs.

There's a blue dildo in her hand, already covered with a condom. Her nails scrape over his nipples.

"I like everything."

"Good."

It's Jana who speaks this time. She kisses him and he tastes himself on her tongue.

He falls asleep between them after who even knows how many rounds. They don't let him leave without another, which turns into two, which turns into four.

By the time he gets home, it's well past eleven.

"Well look who decided to grace us with his presence," Tabby grins. "Would you look at those hickeys. I take it you enjoyed your visit to Slut Manor?"

"Isn't Slut Manor the Xavier place?" Pietro asks, snatching the bagel from her hand.

"Yeah, right. Scott Summers, King of the Sluts."

"I'm pretty sure lords live in manors, not kings."

"Who cares?" Lance groans.

His cheek is pressed to the counter. There's a bag of frozen peas on his head.

"You guys must have had one hell of an after party. I hear raw eggs makes for a great hangover cure."

Lance gags and makes it to the trash can just in time.

"Bet it wasn't half as good as yours. Is Sarah Stuart as easy as they say she is?"

"She likes sex. Who can blame her? I am a fantastic lay, you know."

Tabby snorts and grabs her breakfast back.

"So I guess that makes you King of the Sluts."

"Most people would probably consider me Queen of the Sluts, actually."

Lance takes his peas upstairs and lays down on the bathroom floor. He really doesn't want to know about Pietro’s sex life. Something other than the unhealthy amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before makes his stomach churn.

If it were a movie or a TV show or some crappy book, Lance might have seen Pietro on the verge of freezing to death and, realizing that he was deeply in love with him, taken him into his arms and vowed to spend the rest of their life together if Pietro pulled through. But in a very L. M. Montgomery fashion, Lance only realized how much he enjoyed Pietro’s friendship. If what they had could be called friendship. Sometimes, it seems more like something out of a bad teen drama.

The bathroom floor is cool against his face. He regrets drinking so much but other than that, last night was a good night. He and Kitty are official. That means no more nights with Pietro. He almost dreads giving it up. But it's for Kitty. Pietro will understand.

Pietro, as it turns out, doesn't need to be told.

Kitty Pryde told Amara Aquilla who told Tabby Smith who told Adrian Gilles St. Denis who told Sophie Nicole St. Denis who told Pietro Maximoff that she never thought Kitty Pryde would actually settle for Lance Alvers but stranger things have happened.

"I was gonna tell you myself, Tro. Fucking Tabby can't keep shit to herself."

"I don't care, Lance. What, do you think my heart's broken or something? That's really cute. You wanted her, now you have her. Good for you."

Lance nods. He can't keep the grin off his face.

"I'm really happy, Tro. You can't even imagine. I feel like I can do anything."

Lance turns his back and misses the bitter expression on Pietro's face.

"Let's hope that feeling stays."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wanda is worse than Pietro and Imran sucks at updating.

If Pietro Maximoff is a handful, Wanda Maximoff is something else entirely. Not a day goes by thay she doesn't break something, by accident or otherwise. No one knows how to act around her, least of all Pietro. And she doesn't know how to act around them.

"They're just people," Agatha tells her. "They can't hurt you. Just say hello."

Easier said than done. She wants to be friends with Pietro again but she can't. Every time she looks at him, she sees Magneto leaving her in that awful place and Pietro just standing there.

Charles never told her how to forgive him. 

Pietro is sitting on the couch watching TV when she comes in and sits down awkwardly next to him.

"You can't sleep either?" she asks.

Without looking away from the screen, Pietro shrugs. He doesn't want to make eye contact. It might set her off. Not that it makes much of a difference. 

"Why don't you look at me?" she demands. "You never look at me."

"You always freak out when I do."

"I do not!"

"You do too! You're freaking out now!"

"I'm not!"

The TV flickers and a light bulb bursts. Pietro stands and stomps his foot on the ground. He's never hated anything as much as he hates her temper. 

"You are! You always freak out and you always break shit just because you can. We get it, okay!"

"You don’t get anything that isn't about you. You only care about yourself!"

Pietro snorts and pulls his lips back over his teeth.

"Because you know so much about me, don’t you?"

"And whose fault is it if I don't, huh?"

"Yours! You have a chance to know me now. It's not like I haven't tried. But you're so caught up in your own crazy bullshit to realize that I'm not Magneto. I couldn't stop him! He hurt me, too, you know."

"Not the way he hurt me."

Wanda says it with as much certainty as she can manage. She doesn't cry. She thinks maybe she forgot how to. 

But Pietro still remembers. His eyes are glassy, but no tears fall yet.

"How the fuck would you know? You don't know anything! You have no idea, you stupid, selfish, bitch!"

Something inside her snaps and everything she's learned about controlling her temper disappears. They're both standing, screaming at each other. Wanda decides she wants him very far away. She doesn't even realize it until Pietro slams into a wall with a pained scream. There's something grinning with satisfaction inside her, smug that he wasn't fast enough to make her miss. 

"I wish you'd died," she screams, and suddenly she remembers how to cry. "I wish Magneto let you die. I never want to see you again!"

Pietro stares up at her for a long few seconds. He feels the back of his head. It's hot but he doesn't feel any blood. Swallowing, he tries to match Wanda's breathing and chokes. There's a million things he wants to say to her.

He wants to apologize. He wants to tell her about the years of experiments and neglect and abuse and neglect. He wants to tell her about all the nights he spent imaging breaking her out of that place and running away with her, and the nights he spent imaging her breaking out and finding him and hurting everyone who put their hands on him. He wants to tell her how much he misses her.

He doesn't tell her any of that. Instead, he wipes his bloody nose and stands slowly. Everything hurts. 

"You are so much more like him than I am."

He doesn't stick around for her reaction. 

\--

Los Angeles is probably his favorite place for parties. Bayville is so boring. Even New York got old. Besides, too many people know him in New York. 

It takes him all of fifteen minutes to find something fun. Someone hands him a drink. He has no idea what's in it but he swallows down it anyway. A pretty girl kisses him and pushes a pill into his mouth. It makes him feel hot but that might just be her hand sliding down the front of his jeans.

"You're pretty," she says, barely audible over the music. 

"So are you. What's your name?" 

"Deb Yeo."

Pietro mishears it as Debbie O and never learns otherwise. 

They find an empty spot on a beer stained couch. Pietro pulls her into his lap and slides his hands up her shirt. Her mouth feels soft and eager against his. He wants to be inside her. It's been too long - okay, two weeks - since he's been inside someone. 

"You're viiiibrating," she says as he unhooks her bra.

"What?"

He is pretty sure he isn't vibrating. Especially not from just a bit of kissing. But her hand is sliding into the pocket of his undone jeans and he realizes it's his phone. 

Deb answers it.

"Helloooooo?"

"Gimme that."

He wraps an arm around her and takes the phone back. 

"Hello? Sorry, I can't hear you. Speak up a little. Who the fuck is this?"

"Who do you think?"

Deb, even drunk, notices his sudden discomfort. 

"Hey, is that another girl? Is that your giiiirlfriend."

"No, it's definitely not. Can you gimme a sec? I really need to take this."

She kisses him and he lets her. Her fingers slide past the open zipper in his jeans and cup him through his briefs. 

Pietro lets out a soft sigh before remembering that his father is on the phone. He coaxes her onto the couch and kisses her again.

"I'll be right back. Stay here. Promise?"

"Promise. Hurry back. I wanna suck your cooooock!"

He really hopes Magneto didn't hear that, and rushes out of the house. The music is much more quiet down the street. 

"Hey. Uhm- sorry about that."

"Oh, don't apologize for your taste in company," Magneto says sharply. "I suppose we all have unfortunate habits."

Pietro licks his lips. He can taste Deb's lipgloss.

"You want something?"

"Yes. It's tomorrow."

"So soon?"

"I have been planning this for months, Pietro. Tomorrow at three, you will bring the X-Men and the Brotherhood to the construction site off Veil Avenue."

"Right."

His throat suddenly feels tight. Maybe he's having a reaction to whatever Deb slipped into his mouth.

"Decide. Are you going to help me, or should I find someone else?"

"No- no. I'll do it. Just promise me no one in the Brotherhood will get hurt. Especially not- especially not Wanda. She's better, I promise."

The bruises on his back counter his words. But Magneto doesn't need to know about that. He can't let him hurt her again. 

"I would never do anything to put you or your sister in danger. This is what you've been waiting for. A chance to stop hiding what you are from the world. I know you won't disappoint me. Make me proud tomorrow, Pietro."

Pietro nods, swallowing thickly. Tears sting his eyes. Before he can find the words to respond, Magneto hangs up.

He knows his father is lying. Granted, he doesn't know exactly what Magneto is planning. But he's not an idiot. Someone always gets hurt.

He'd almost said no. He did say no, the first time Magneto brought it up. The thought of putting Lance at risk made him sick, even if Lance only wants Kitty.

And then Wanda showed up. Wanda, who blamed him and made sure he knew it every chance she had. But she's still his sister and he still has a chance to make her love him again.

Had. Wanda wishes he was dead. Pietro almost wishes it, too.

He could still say no. Whatever happens after that won't be his fault. Maybe nothing can happen without him so last minute. He can still run away, Lance or no Lance. Magneto can't find him if he keeps running. 

Except Magneto will find him, and Magneto will hurt him.

The music drowns out the sound of his thoughts.

"Okay," he tells himself, "if Debbie is still waiting, I'll tell them everything. If she's not... they're on their own."

It's stupid to make such an important decision this way and he knows it. He doesn't care. It's better than flipping a coin.

Deb is gone. He ends up fucking a man whose name he only remembers long enough to moan when he cums. He feels dirty and unwanted and leaves without saying anything. The guy calls after him, but he's already gone. 

Wanda is asleep on the couch when he gets home. There's a dent in the wall where she'd thrown him. She doesn't wake up when he slips upstairs.

In the morning, they pretend last night never happened. Wanda accepts it, completely oblivious to the anxious twist in Pietro's gut.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance thinks he might be a bit of a dick.

It isn't that Pietro doesn't want to tell Wanda where Magneto is. He wants nothing more than for her to kick the living shit out of him. If anyone could do it, it's her. He's sure Magneto knows it, too.

But he doesn't know where his father is. He never does. He has to take Pyro's word that he's alive, since he hasn't received so much as a text message from him.

He pretends that the Brotherhood busts him out of the prison van because they don't want him going to jail (again). But they don't care and they make that clear. Not even Freddy cares. They won't understand and they won't care that Magneto made him betray them.

All they did was prove that he had to look out for himself. No one else would. Not in this lifetime.

His chest still hurts from when Wanda hit him.

The upside is that Wanda isn't around to keep hurting him. She's too busy tracking down Magneto. It makes it easier for him to breathe.

Pietro pretends that he's in charge of the Brotherhood because he's best suited for it. Because Magneto thinks he can handle it. But the truth is that he's still just a puppet. That doesn't stop him from taking advantage of his new position. It makes them hate him even more and he knows it. Pietro doesn't care. He wants them to hate him. He wants them to burn up inside every time they look at him.

It makes knowing he might have to betray them again at any moment so much easier.

\--

Fred can't help soften up to him a little suddenly. He tells Lance doesn't like grudges, is all. But in a moment when Pietro thinks no one is looking, Fred sees a look of pain and loneliness cross his pretty face. He remembers that look well.

"Maybe he had no choice," he says.

Lance bares his teeth.

"Like fuck he didn't! And that doesn't change him acting like a colossal dick to us."

"What if Magneto said he has to?"

"Magneto, Magneto. It's always his excuse. He's got independent thought, don't he?"

Fred can't disagree with that. It doesn't stop him from trying to be nice to him. It's easier said than done when Pietro snaps at him and all he wants to do is hit him. But he sees the exhaustion and decides he'd be cranky, too, if he was that tired.

\--

Even Lance sees it, though he pretends not to. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls the pillow over his head at night. It doesn't drown out the muffled sound of coughs and hiccups and sobs from the other side of the wall.

The wall feels especially thin Tuesday night - Wednesday morning - some time around two. Lance knows Pietro is drunk, or buzzed at least. He'd seen the empty bottles on the counter when he went down for water. He can hear every word that Pietro sobs into the phone. There seems no point trying to ignore it, he tells himself as he presses his ear to the wall.

"You ruined me," he hears Pietro say. "You wanted me this way. I know you did. You sick fuck."

Pietro hiccups. He says something Lance doesn't catch. Lance thinks it might be German. It sounds German. Then he switches back to an accented English.

"Everyone hates me because of you. Even you hate me. I know you do, you know. I see it when you look at me."

There's a pause. Lance wonders if Pietro passed out. But then he starts talking and Lance has to strain to hear it.

"I- I saved your life. You sh-should love me. Could at least t-try."

Pietro breaks off with a sob.

It makes Lance feel sick. He shouldn't keep listening, and he knows it. But he can't make himself stop. He didn't know Pietro carried so much pain.

No. No, thats not strictly true. He's always had some idea.

He doesn't think it can get worse. Except it does.

"Y'know, first time person who said they loved me was one of bitch's boyfriend fucks. I mean, what he teeechnically said was, 'Love you when you suck my dick.' Close enough, innit? It's still- still-"

Pietro doesn't finish his though out. He wails and sobs and Lance doesn't need to try to hear it.

Bile rises in the back of Lance's throat. What's that expression about eavesdroppers never hearing anything good? It's exactly how Lance feels.

It isn't like he didn't know that Pietro and Magneto had a shitty relationship. And it isn't like he didn't know Pietro had been... But to hear it like that... Guilt gnaws at his stomach. There's anger, too. He wants to hurt someone. He wants to hurt Magneto.

He figures Wanda has that part covered. Maybe if she knew... but he wouldn't tell her. It isn't his place.

Eventually, the sound of Pietro crying subsides. Lance suspects he's fallen asleep. He tries to do the same to no avail.

Maybe five in the morning is too early for coffee. Maybe anyone who takes issue with it could go fuck themselves.

Pietro is in the kitchen at 6:40 sharp. Makeup hides any evidence that he spent half the night crying. It's not like anyone saw him. No one needs to know.

"Fun night?" Lance drawls, motioning to the bottles.

No need to tip him off. Keep it normal.

"You could say that. What's it to you?"

"Nothing. Just wondering where you got the money."

"Who says I paid?"

The grin is almost familiar. But it's too bitter, and the cynicism that Lance hadn't realized had left Pietro’s eyes is there.

There's about twenty things Lance wants to say, and about a hundred more that he should say. He doesn't get the chance.

Pietro is out the door and doesn't come back until the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually shows up with TWO new chapters for the sole purpose of plugging my new book. TLDR, I dropped off the face of the earth to focus on my original fiction. I have a book in a collection that's aiming for USAT bestseller. If you've enjoyed this story so far, consider buying it? It's on preorder for .99$ and it'd make me so happy if we sold enough to make the list. Mine's the last one in the set.  
> https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Files-Collection-Supernatural-Suspense-ebook/dp/B07D1S27J1/


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro actually talks about his problems. TW rape mention.

Marcel Daniels is one of the two guidance counsellors. Like every Thursday, he's staying late to finish up his filling and paperwork. Vivian's spin class ended months ago, and Evan obviously doesn't have basketball practice anymore. But he likes his habits. It makes things easier.

It's approaching four when he hears a knock just to the left of his desk. He opens the door and lets in a sharp gust of air. No one is in the hall. Odd. Marcel shrugs it off and lets it click shut.

"These things'll kill you, you know."

The familiar voice nearly has him jumping out of his skin.

Pietro Maximoff is sitting in his usual spot on the window sill. The window is open, and Pietro is blowing smoke from a lit cigarette out of it, the same way he always did during their sessions. Marcel only let him get away with it because it seemed to be the only thing that would calm him down. Their sessions had always been tense.

Marcel suddenly realizes that his pocket feels less heavy than it should. He stuffs his hand into it only to find his carton of cigarettes missing.

"Did you- are those mine?" he asks, too surprised and maybe a little too impressed to be accusatory.

"Trust me, I'm doing you a favour. "

Marcel almost sighs, and pulls his chair up. It's been a long time since he had Pietro in this office. Every other week of so, Pietro had been sent here over a suspected eating disorder or problems with other students or issues at home. But he'd never managed to get the kid to open up. It didn't stop him from being an anxious wreck.

"Since when did you start smoking again, Pietro?"

Pietro shrugs.

"Since there's no one left who cares what I do."

Before Marcel can respond, Pietro cuts him off.

"No, that's not true. Pyro might care. He's pretty sweet to me. He gave me this lighter. But he only likes me because my father doesn't. I think Lance used to care, or I used to think he cared, but it was just play. See, we were fucking for a while. But he was just using me because I'm easy. I'm not mad, though. I wanted him to use me."

Right to the point, then.

Pietro pauses to take another drag.

Marcel watches Pietro carefully. The boy was never someone he could predict. From what he understands, Pietro is against the X-Men. He isn't naive enough to call him a 'bad guy'. As little as he knows about the mutant world, he knows it can't be that black and white. But that doesn't mean he isn't keeping both eyes on him.

"Wanda thinks she cares. She's my sister."

"I didn’t know you had a sister."

"You don’t know anything about me."

"You're right, I don't," Marcel agrees. "Why do you say she _thinks_ she cares? Wouldn't she know best?"

Pietro shakes his head.

"You'd think. She hates me. When we were kids, she went completely postal. Totally certifiable. My father had her locked in this sketchy asylum. I didn't stop him. But then this other crazy bitch busted her out to kill my father."

Marcel nods slowly, even though Pietro is looking the other way. It isn't crazier than any of the stories Evan told him. And with everything that's been on the news... It doesn't stop his stomach from clenching. 

Pietro is all but hanging out the window, exhaling smoke through his nose. He watches Marcel's reflection in the window.

"He brainwashed her to think she had a normal childhood. Meanwhile, I'm stuck with all this shit."

He crushes the butt of the cigarette just outside the window and sits in the empty chair. For a few moments, he watches the seconds on the clock tick by without speaking. Marcel doesn't press. Pietro always seemed to appreciate that.

"My father died this morning. Don't- say you're sorry. Please. If one more person apologizes, I'm going to scream." His leg bounces up and down until it's a blur. "I'm glad he's dead. He took everything from me. He made me turn against everyone I care about. The things he did to me..."

Marcel listens quietly. It's hard to know what to say. There's so much going on. So much that he's missing. Pietro isn't who he thought he was. He takes a deep breath and picks a spot.

"You want my opinion, son? It's about time you start being honest with people. Let some of this stuff out. You'll never move on if you don't."

\--

Pietro mulls the advice over but doesn't act on it for a few days. He doesn't think he knows how to. Be honest? He's been lying through his teeth about every aspect of himself since day one.

He's still thinking about it almost a week later, sitting with his legs across the couch and another cigarette between his lips. He's waiting for Lance to stop scowling and start yelling at him for taking his cigarettes again. But he knows that so long as Lance is pitying him over Magneto, it won't be any time soon.

There's conversation going on around him. Something about Magneto, probably. Or bills. It's always one of the two. Pietro isn't really listening. He watches the smoke rise up and disappear. Mystique is gone, Magneto is gone, and the house smells anyway. Besides, it keeps his hands steady.

Be honest. It sounds so easy. Just tell the truth. No lies, no omissions, no embellishments. He wonders how people do it all the time. He wants to try. But what can he be honest about? Anything about Magneto seems too obvious and the risk of setting Wanda off or bringing her memories back isn't worth it.

"- Pietro? You okay?"

He doesn't even register who speaks. There's a million things he could say. The first one that comes to mind leaves his mouth.

"I was raped."

It comes out tight and quick. It almost sounds like a cough. But they're used to the way he talks enough to make it out. There's a second or two of silence. Pietro stares at a spot on the wall where he thinks a clock might have been once. He wishes it was still there.

Wanda speaks first, shaky and quiet.

"By who? _When_?"

Pietro snorts.

"Which time?"

He isn't going to cry. He's so over it. It doesn't even matter anymore.

"You don't have to talk about it," Lance says quietly.

Almost like he cares. Ha!

"Yes he does!" Wanda insists. "How are we supposed to help him if he doesn't?"

"This wasn't yesterday," Pietro says. "I don’t need help."

"Then why'd you say it?" Fred asks with genuine curiosity.

Pietro pauses under the guise of taking another drag. It's his fourth cigarette in as many hours.

"Maybe I'm just tired of keeping it to myself."

"Maybe you just want some attention," Todd mumbles.

He clearly doesn't mean to be heard but he notices too late that Pietro is glowering at him.

"Maybe _you_ can go _fuck yourself_!"

A door upstairs slams shut. The couch is empty and the cigarette is sitting in the ashtray.

No one bothers Pietro for a few hours. He calls Pyro and listens to him prattle on for a good hour about some road trip in an accent so thick, he only catches about half of it. It makes him feel less like crying. He's trying to fall asleep when Wanda creeps into his room and sits next to him. The mattress dips with her weight.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asks softly.

He just shrugs.

"Was it the same person every time?"

He shakes his head.

"Was it after Magneto sent you to that boarding school?"

Pietro frowns, and realizes that must be part of her memories. Something to account for any discrepancies between them. He nods.

"I wish you would talk to me about it."

"It was a long time ago. I just want to forget it."

More than anything, he wanted to forget his life the way she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually shows up with TWO new chapters for the sole purpose of plugging my new book. TLDR, I dropped off the face of the earth to focus on my original fiction. I have a book in a collection that's aiming for USAT bestseller. If you've enjoyed this story so far, consider buying it? It's on preorder for .99$ and it'd make me so happy if we sold enough to make the list. Mine's the last one in the set.  
> https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Files-Collection-Supernatural-Suspense-ebook/dp/B07D1S27J1/


End file.
